We awoke late the next morning, 8:30am. We both had had a rough night’s sleeping for a part of the night, but awakening into this wonderful tall grass and flowers all around us, cool clear mountain air and trees, started us out with delight.
We had just visited the Blue River down Juan Miller Road and decided to spend our remaining time back up in the alpine ecosystem of the White Mountains. See “Into the Blue River Valley parts 1 and 2” and before that, “Someplace South of Greer parts 1 and2.”
As we traveled up the 666 highway among magnificent vistas and pines that afternoon, there were many camouflage uniforms all along the road. On the drive the day before, we had encountered maybe six or eight vehicles in the entire seventy miles. Today there were battalions of these guys. One red truck had a pair of antlers attached to a deer in the back of his bed. I found out later that bow hunting season started that Friday. That explained the guilty looks on those young men’s faces the day before. They were out jumping the gun. Everywhere, they were unpacking, sitting, driving slowly, and watching. One white P/U had even stopped dead in the middle of the curving highway and waved us to pass!
Stopping for a break and a look at the map below Hannigan’s Meadow, we began looking for a spot to camp. It was already four and we had no plan. We continued down the trails, hoping to get lucky. These jeep trails wandered through meadows bordering stands of forest on hillsides. Some of the stands had burned four years earlier and others were untouched.
We woke up at sunrise. The sunlit clouds were inspirational.
We weren’t disappointed by the change of plans, because this wonderful place made us feel blessed. The rain had not returned. We had a quick breakfast of bananas and the last of the porridge, which we smothered in vanilla yogurt. We had a decision to make. I was determined to inspect the Blue River. The road was for all we knew not passible, but it would make for a hike. We had a weather forecast for Alpine, of 60 percent chance of rain, the monsoon was still on. Although we were seventy miles away and 4000 feet lower than Alpine, we knew that that rain would be coming up from this direction from Mexico by afternoon.
This morning even after sleeping later, there were still some mosquito problems, but that’s okay, it is good stimulus to break camp more quickly. The turkeys had snuck away to do what they do. I was still asking, “Did you know they fly!?” I didn’t know they did that!”
The next leg of our journey was before us, down a mountainous road, across dirt to the Blue River. We still had to search resources to make sure of what we were doing. We planned drive down to the Blue River to spend the night. The following morning, we would backpack 4.2 miles upstream to make camp. Then we would explore a very remote hot springs and canyons for a day. Another night in this designated Primitive Area, we would then return to the truck the following day.
We awoke to the sound of birds and above us blue skies with fluffy cumulus clouds through the shady trees. The squirrels continued their antics. DF was feeling better with the help of a special tea that I gave her. She probably suffered from altitude sickness. The improvement was encouraging. We had a cool cinnamon/almond/apple porridge with cantaloupe. The sun was high enough to gift us comfort in our skin in seamless perfection. We sat enjoying ourselves in the ring of the quiet glade. Then, as DF brought life force through herself with Chi Gung, I walked bare into the woods to see what was there and just to be.
DF told me that she had taken several days off for another purpose, but decided only do a part of that activity. We would have from Tuesday to Sunday for a trip. I promptly dove into the bucket list, to find a “to do.” The weather would be a factor. It is monsoon season. I hadn’t done complete research, including acquiring maps and contacting the Forest Service. I had internet information, which was some years old and a regional map dated 1976. I was finding that translating this into topo maps with an online service difficult.
In the White Mountains of Arizona, I had Bear Wallow trail mapped and it sounded fun. I had some contradictory information for what has been called the most remote hot springs in the country for a three day back pack trip. These would be the primary two phases of our trip, but I was faced with just throwing up my hands and waiting for better information at the Pinetop Forest Service office. We were playing it by ear.
The first thing to do was to get up into those mountains. I had some experience with the area from the years past, when my parents had a summer home in Pinetop. I had taken a few excursions from there. Our knowledge was limited, but we did have a feel for what to expect. After a decade away, the four hour trip to the Lakeside Forest Service office brought back many memories. The section of odd grade that chokes many a car’s power, the mining/smelter town of Winkleman, the times tubing the Gila River, towing boats and other events causing past trips flooded through my mind, as I reminisced with DF. The trip felt shorter; maybe my perception of time moves quicker. The grand Salt River Canyon where friends have died on its treacherous road was more magnificent than I remembered. The old drive-in movies theater was now closed, the Taco Bell was still there. A host of familiar small things along the road presented themselves to me once more.
Salt River Canyon
2012-05-21
It’s been a memorable week. We celebrated a pair of B-days, me a big 60 and my graduation with that masters degree, all within a weekend. We had about 75 friends out under a starry night around a bonfire and lights amongst the mesquite trees. About 20 were musicians and the jams and dancing were wonderful, into the night. We had tribal and street hand drums, sax and flutes with Black Man Clay and One Heart Beat in the mix, (See youtube). We had pirate ballads, electric rock and roll and reggae. Oh yea, Johnny Cash.
A secretive naturist lesson of this story was about a pair of my neighbors. They get frisky after a few beers, but stare at the ceiling when they talk to us, while we are nude at home. They stop by unannounced. Two long time naturist friends, were there at the celebration. They were standing around listening to music. The “She” part of the frisky duo came up to them, strangers to them and commented about how every time she went to my place, we were naked. They just laughed, of course. No telling who else she shared that info with. Oh well, most of the attendees have been nude with us at one time or another. So, the update is: Cat’s out of the bag, with those two around. Always remember that people talk.
Sunday, we were supposed to travel up to the Verde Hot Springs, but partying until dawn and lots of cleanup got in the way. We did drive a naked foray into the desert to watch that solar eclipse. We were too stubborn to get dressed, after spending the day that way, not even dressing for lingering guests from the night before. The sun was setting during a significant portion of the eclipse. The sunset timing made the sun much larger and softer on the eyes. There, the black chunk out of the sun was so clear and evident.
2012-07-31
Sunday morning we took off to Aravaipa Canyon. This is a wildlife preserve and designated protected wilderness area run by the BLM and The Nature Conservancy. Only 50 each day are allowed by permit to enter, 30 from the west and 20 from the east entrance of the ten mile, and more, stretch of canyon. On our days off, during the monsoon and summer heat, there were only two takers for the east entrance…us. There were a few coming into the west, which is a closer easier access from Tucson and Phoenix, but it is over eleven miles through wilderness with generally no trails. It is mostly slogging through the creek itself. The east requires high clearance, and this day, four wheel drive. I had just gotten a four wheel drive two weeks before. This was the first big trip. I’ve been without a 4×4 for about 15 years. Now, DF and I have access to remote PRIVATE areas, which have been missed for sooo long.
This being the first trip to Aravaipa, we weren’t sure what to expect. We had the website, some anecdotes and some topo maps. http://www.blm.gov/az/st/en/arolrsmain/aravaipa.html
Friday August 7th 2015
I rained off and on all afternoon. I spent the afternoon in delight and writing about the experience in a naked body, as follows:
I slip on my fivetoe KSO’s. The rain has stopped pouring in wind swept sheets. I will listen out at the edge of my property for flowing water in the desert. If none, I will take a stroll through my desert stealth/nature trail. When I open the front door, I notice that it is sprinkling. As I begin my walk, it starts to rain again. This time, it is very different, a calm pour, no winds, and warm large drops. What a treat, naked in the rain again.
I see no flow of water, and hear no sound of the creek running in the distance. I take the stealth trail. The path is soaked, the sandy soil bloated and soft. My shoes sink deeply into this, sometimes three or more inches, leaving what looks like barefoot tracks. A community of red ants have taken over a long section of my trail, a length where it had been trail before my construction. I do my best to avoid disrupting them, but accidents happened. I hear the drops of rain splashing on the nearby plants, as is my own experience in this body. Often, I hear just the crunch of my feet on the freshly disturbed washed clean sand, as my foot intricately, grinds through it. The sun comes out, the rain stops, the sun comes out in just this spot where I walk. The humidity nearly instantly changes from cool to a steaming, like any tropical jungle. But this is a desert.
I stop to survey the distant vistas all around me as I stand on a knoll. I am suddenly startled by a cactus wren taking flight just a few feet away from my head. Looking in the alarm’s direction, there is a cholla cactus, and in its masses of prickly branches a new looking nest sits.
I make my way to my favorite sitting rock, a place that I call Havarock. I stand and then I sit cross legged, just listening, just watching, just imbibing the fresh air and its effect on my physical being. Do I hear the creek below? I stand, but I can’t be sure.
Another sprinkle begins as I near home from my excursion. I can’t seem to get enough of this.
2015-08-04
There are many unseen and seen phenomena in the desert. The lack of interference of unnatural sound, the noise pollution, the uncluttered more mindful state and an aware nude body enhance recognition of these. From Carlos Castaneda’s Yaqui lore of beings such as Nogales, to ghost, they have been a part of culture for millennia.
I have stepped into bubbles of warm and cool air and stood quietly encased. I have sensed the greater wellbeing of a particular spot’s ley energy. Also walking nude in the desert, there are currents, and distinct streams of warm and cool temperatures, humidity differences, flowing down the terrain of the mountains and washes, each indicative of micro-climates. As I sit on my favorite rock, I often listen to the winds. A calm silence can be broken by the approach and passing of a seemingly being-like presence. The bushes may rustle one after another. It may pass by, or pass through. It may come only a few feet away, but never touch me. It may be apparently small or large, 20 or even 40 feet in its disturbance of the vegetation. It may briefly engulf my body with warm or cooler air. Nudity in nature is awareness and a better understanding of our relationship with what is and it is fun.
Today, I saw a ghost-like creature. The rain had washed the dirt road into an uncomfortable system of gulleys, washboards and ponded potholes needing to be dodged. Our neighbor had generously taken it upon himself to grade these away. Here, in the desert things dry up rapidly and in this case a fine layer of dust had been created. We are all probably familiar with the sight of the “dust devil” a smaller version of a tornado, blowing across plains in movies and pictures, if not personal experience. They can be very uncomfortable as a sandblast, never a good place for contact lenses, but also, they can be more gentile. This one entity was one of those that is seen. This one had grasped the fine powder. There was a much slower velocity in its spinning vortex. The dust was seen to lightly float in small clouds. It stood maybe seven or eight feet tall, as it walked along the road side. It was simply ghostly as though alive.
My amazement turned to pondering. It was a vortex. It was vibrating, energetic, just like any atom that makes up a body. It had mass and reflected light. It was itself a phenomena with a nature as any other form of life. In that sense, it was alive, a being. The Native concept of all my relations would include this. It was simple life form, a unique being. One that you don’t see much, one that you may hear the effects of at other times, or the one that you may just feel with naked skin. We, like plants and other life, are made up of air, heat, moister, and more, purposefully manifesting and interacting. We have a tendency to exist as these do. Life is relationships. If not for these relationships, we would not exist, ego would die. That is other than the piece that merely observes all…go figure.
The Free Range Naturist 